


A Taste of Magic Poison

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, Happy Ending, Improper use of Lyrium, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Mage Trevelyan - Freeform, Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Top Cullen, What Was I Thinking?, kinda OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this Kinkmeme prompt:<br/>Male Inquisitor can flirt with Cullen but is eventually turned down.<br/>Trevelyan flirted, gracefully accepted the rejection, moved on. Something happens that makes Cullen madly crave lyrium, he begs Inquisitor for it and when Inquisitor refuses to give him any (obeying Cullen's wishes who told him that if something like that ever happened he'd rather die) he starts coming onto him, offering himself in exchange for lyrium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste of Magic Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Inquisitor's name is Maxwell Trevelyan.
> 
> Now, slightly edited!

“I can offer my friendship and nothing more…”

Oh. _Oh_. Pain flares inside the mage’s heart. It’s so sudden and strong it makes the young Trevelyan want to double over in pain, yet he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.  Cullen is much too handsome, much too sweet for him anyway. Trevelyan refuses to acknowledge the pain in his chest in hope it will fade away. Even if he can’t have what he truly wants, he decides to stand beside Cullen as a friend.

“I understand.” Trevelyan smiles, “I just hope you don’t think less of me for it.”

“I could never think that.”

“Thank you.” _Yes_. Trevelyan thinks. _This friendship will be enough._

 

 

Skyhold was frigid at night, and it probably didn’t help that they hadn’t even started repairing the stone walls yet. There’s just so much to be done the cold chills that seeped from the walls weren’t even on the top of the list.  

“Take a break.” Trevelyan had told him just hours ago when Cullen found him waiting in the former templar’s room.

“Alright, in a bit,” Cullen had lied to the mage. The Commander didn’t want to leave himself at the mercy of his own mind at least not when Haven’s events still burned fresh there.

By the time he looked up, it was too late into the evening for any combat practice with his men, so Cullen began on that endless stack of paperwork. Maker, he hated paperwork. How Josephine sat at a desk all day sending letters and such was beyond him yet, for the time being it would keep his mind off Haven and off the small vial of lyrium shoved into the bottom of his desk.

He had been staring at these pages for what seemed like hours in the glowing candle light. Cullen’s eyes ached from the strain. Everything hurt; he wondered if the days of travel here had finally caught up to him. Before he knew it, his eyes were beginning to drift closed.

_She’s smiling. She was always smiling. Cullen never thought he’d see her again, not since the demons came. He remembers watching her during the Harrowing his sword loose in the nervous hands. But there she was again._

_“Amell,” Her name comes softly from his lips a name of power and nobility in the Free Marches. She’s a warden now. He reminds himself._

_“Cullen,” She sings his name is a song that hardly sounds human. The mage warden leans into kiss him with soft rosy lips. Cullen closes his eyes and meets her kiss. It isn’t until it’s too that he feels the liquid that taste like magic ooze down his throat. It isn’t the warden’s face he sees when his eyes shoot open in shock. The face belongs to Knight-Commander Meredith and instead of a small kiss from the warden Amell there’s a bottle of lyrium being forced down his throat._

_He shoves her away and falls down, down the stairs of the gallows, but only it isn’t the gallows anymore. It Haven and the breach is open raining demons from the sky. Cullen watches as his friends get torn apart by terrors and burned alive by rage demons. Cullen tries desperately to help them. When Cullen reaches for his sword he can only see the blood on his hands. It’s too much. It is too much. The last thing he hears is that awful woman’s laughter._

He nearly jumps out of his skin slamming his knees into the desk, but before the Commander can even catch his breath his hands are roaming the drawers of his desk in search. Cullen knows the box better than he knows he should. The vital of lyrium placed beside the crude tools used to inject it. He had it filled before Haven was destroyed just in case. Just in case. Guilt flared in his body as he tried to justify having a dose of the magic liquid. He had promised both the Inquisitor and Cassandra that he was done with the drug, and after seeing the Templars at Haven this was the last thing he should be doing.

Cullen pushed the papers, inkwells, and other things aside. However, the former templar found nothing. Within seconds Cullen had found the wooden box nestled at the bottom of a drawer. Relief flooded his veins until he opened it. The small vial inside was completely missing.

“Trevelyan,” He hissed and headed to the Inquisitor’s quarters in a quiet storm of fury.

 

Pounding on the inner door to his chambers has Trevelyan all but falling out of the bed. The inquisitor just knows something has gone wrong. He can feel it. A million thoughts run through the mind as he struggles to get to the door. He trips on one the stairs awkwardly and slams his shoulder into a wall. The Trevelyan forces down a grunt of pain and braces himself against the wall to keep from falling.

“What’s happened?” The inquisitor swings open the door with one arm and nursing his left shoulder with the other. Cullen can see his eyes wide with worry and brows furrowed. His short hair is sticking up awkwardly in all kinds of ways. Perhaps, if he wasn’t so angry with him he would have laughed.

“Where is it?” Cullen tries to ask calmly; this man is the inquisitor after all.

“Where is what?” Trevelyan laughs, almost nervously. He knows he has given himself away, but he couldn’t see himself lying to the Commander anyway. Cullen grabs the mage’s arm hard, and pulls the door shut.

“My bottle of lyrium!” Cullen gives the other a hard shove moving into Trevelyan’s room.

“Cullen we talked about this. You don’t need it.” He sighs, heavily.

“It was still mine. You had no right to take it. How you even knew where it was is beyond me!” His rage has faded slightly. The mage could see Cullen’s normal persona settling back in bit by bit. If he kept this up he wagered he could Cullen to go back to bed lyrium free. 

“I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be-”

“You’re damn right I have every right to be!”

“Hey, stop and listen to yourself for a second. You’re tired and angry, but lyrium isn’t going to fix either of those problems is it?”

“Maybe not but, Maker, it’ll help me get some sleep.”

“What do you mean?”

Trevelyan’s brows where furrowing again. Cullen never realized how young the man actually was. He was barely in his early twenties. How had Cullen not noticed that before? Maybe, it was because the first time he laid eyes on the mage he was closing a fade rift covered with sweat, dirt, and demon blood. Even since that moment the mage seemed larger than life.

“I get nightmares they’re part of the lyrium withdraw…” Cullen breathed out.

“I didn’t realize.” He paused. The Trevelyan want to give in to give Cullen back that small bottle of lyrium that was hidden inside his bookshelf, but he knew if he did they would both regret it. “I’m sorry Cullen. I can’t back at Haven I promised I’d help you see this through, and I will.”

“Maxwell,” Cullen calls him by his first name for once. He can’t remember the last time someone used it. It’s always _Inquisitor_ or _Trevelyan_ sometimes both. “Maxwell, please, just this once. I don’t even want the whole bottle just a bit not even half.”

His heart aches more than it should. Cullen sounds so broken inside, and he wants to help him he just doesn’t know how. Maxwell doesn’t know what it’s like to be force fed lyrium by the chantry and forced to watch mages gossip instead of work for most the day.

“Cullen, don’t do this to me. Say whatever you want you can even give me those puppy eyes, but the answer is no.” The mage wishes he’d just thrown the bottle into the ravine, so he couldn’t be tempted to give it back.

“Maxwell, I’ll do anything I just want a good night’s rest.” He feels guilty for waking the young man up in the middle of the night, for making him worry, for all the emotional baggage he’s dumping onto his shoulders. Cullen fells even worst for playing a guilt trip card. The parts of himself that didn’t crave lyrium hated himself. He hated what he’d done and what he had become.

“I’m not the best herbalist on the team, but if you need something to help you sleep I can offer you that.” Maxwell couldn’t look him in the eye anymore he was losing ground.

It wasn’t until he look away Cullen realized Maxwell’s eyes were lyrium colored, and not the red kind growing out of the templars they’d battle at Haven. Cullen wanted to look again and to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. The former templar was sure he was past that stage of withdraw.

“Maxwell,” he called, but the inquisitor pulled further back into himself ignoring Cullen and crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“Maxwell Trevelyan,” the war commander called his name again.

“What Cullen?”

“Look at me.” Cullen demanded. Maxwell was compelled to listen without even thinking. He did as commanded. Cullen was studying him with a fierce expression almost that of a lion.

Cullen wasn’t seeing things. The mages eyes where colored a dark blue speckled with light crystal blue flecks in them. Eyes filled with worry for _him_ and hope for _his_ future. Eyes that had long blond eyelashes you had to get closer to really notice. Cullen never considered himself attracted to men before, so he wasn’t sure why he was forced to claim those pale pink lips.

Before Maxwell knew it Cullen had scaled the two steps between them which one long stride, grabbed the back his hair, and force him to a kiss. He was shocked, frozen in place even. Short of watching Cullen get a lyrium high this is the last place he thought this night would go. He wondered f he should stop Cullen the man would probably hate him in the morning. Cullen’s armor covered arm was freezing cold against his bare back it brought a shiver through this whole body causing him to let his guard down. Cullen took advantage of this slipping his tongue past the mages slightly parted lips. The mage tasted of tea with honey and very faintly of lyrium probably from one of his potions. It was a taste that made Cullen crave more.

The kiss is hard and hot but also tender and sweet. It doesn’t things it Maxwell. He knows he really shouldn’t be, but he’s kiss his war commander back. Not only that, Maxwell pulls the ex-templar closer to deepen the kiss. The man’s fur pauldrons tickle his skin while the chill of the metal seeps through his skin.

Cullen’s leather gloves hands slowly start to roam over his back mindlessly while he sinking future into the mages lyrium hinted mouth. The commander feels like he’s sinking into a bottomless pit only he can’t bring himself to care. Maxwell smells of the forest, freshly fallen snow, and especially magic. Everything there doing right now feels right even when he can hear the voices of other templar knights telling him no. Their voices are a thousand miles away. Cullen can feel magic flowing under the mage’s skin even through his gloves. It reaches out like static electricity clinging to his skin.

It’s Cullen who finally breaks away from their embrace, but only to take off those pesky gloves. Before Maxwell can even question him, his lips are back on his like a man possessed. The inquisitor almost begins to wonder if this is all some sort of dream. Cullen’s warm hands border lining worship of his skin. He felt Cullen gradually drain his mana through his skin, through their kiss. Maxwell wondered if all templars had the ability to do this because it didn’t hurt like when they dispelled his magic this felt absolutely divine. Maxwell could already feel his cock starting to strain in his loose cotton pants and his knees growing weak.  

Maxwell fumbled clumsily with Cullen’s armor only to find it seemingly impossible to get off. Maker, he didn’t know how Cullen wore all that weight all day, but right now all the mage cared about was more of the templars warm sun-kissed skin against his.

“Here, let me help you.” The elder said, breathlessly. Cullen guided his hands to the buckles at the sides of his armor. With the commander’s help it wasn’t long before the last metal bracer clamored to the stone floor. Cullen was left only in a light tan undershirt and his dark pants. That was still entirely too much. Yet before Maxwell could pull the shirt off him or even protest Cullen was guiding to the bed and pushing him down onto the mattress. Cullen slipped a knee between his legs and caged him in pinning down the Inquisitor’s hands with his own. The man made Maxwell feel like he was prey to the lion that was Cullen’s lust.

Cullen kissed his down slightly stubbled his jaw only to start sucking little red marks into the pale skin of his neck. Maxwell tried slipping his hands from Cullen’s hold with no luck. The inquisitor wanted nothing more than to stroke the muscles hiding under that shirt. The ex-templar’s knee was pressing down against his erection, and Maxwell couldn’t stop himself from rolling his hips into that friction. Maxwell had to hold back moans in his throat it was all too much. Everywhere Cullen’s lips touched set his skin on fire. Then, every now and again he’d let his lips linger pulling at the magic under Maxwell’s skin.

Cullen heard the young inquisitor let out a soft moan when he slipped his tongue over one a pink nipple. He could feel the power beneath his skin whether from the anchor or being a mage he couldn’t tell anymore. He decided he didn’t care either, so long as he got to here that accented voice moan again.

“Cullen, please,” Trevelyan panted in a shaky voice.

“Do you have-”

“Bookcase, top shelf,” Maxwell cut him off. He could here Cullen fumbling around while he desperately tried to control his breaths.

Cullen noticed the slightly brown vial filled with oil, and reacted for it when he saw a faint glow of blue behind the nearest book. Tossing the book away confirmed what he knew. It was his small lyrium flask.

When he felt Cullen’s weight over him again he cracked open his eyes to see the former templar shirtless chest. It was dotted with scars here and there but it only made the man look more beautiful. Cullen rubbed his inquisitor’s hips as he worked off Trevelyan’s pants.

“Turn over.” He commanded. Maxwell eagerly carried out the war commander’s orders.

Uncorking the small vial, he could smell the faint, familiar smell of magic. Cullen wondered if the mage be able to tell the difference. He poured the some over the mage’s back instantly earning a reaction. Maxwell let out a moan, and sparks jolted around the small pool of lyrium sliding down his back.

“Cullen,” He could see Trevelyan glancing over his shoulder with half lidded eyes. Obviously, attempting to retake control of the situation, the war commander was having none of that. He poured more of the lyrium into his hand. The former templar slipped a lyrium slicked finger passed the mages tight ring of muscles to the second knuckle curling it inside him. Maxwell let out a sharp cry beneath him. He wasted no time adding a second finger watching the blue liquid slip into the mage’s hole. He wishes he could see what Maxwell’s face looks likes at the moment. He imagines his cheeks red and lips parted panting in between his moans. Cullen can only see that his ears are colored pink and his shoulders are trembling from here. He adds a third finger to the other two.

“Cullen, please, please, _please_ ,” The mage at his mercy begs.

“Please what?” Cullen teases. The inquisitor’s ears begin to take a darker tone of red, and he gets quiet like he isn’t going to answer. At least until, Cullen’s fingers brush a spot inside him that makes his back arch and star dance over his eyelids.

“I need you inside me, Cullen, please!” Trevelyan cries out.  He sighs at the loss of Cullen’s fingers when they slip out of him. The war commander helps the mage turn over slowly, so that he can admire his handy work. Trevelyan’s pale skin littered with red marks, covered with a thin sweat in the dim light, blond hair just long enough to cling to his redden cheeks. It got to be one the most beautiful sights Cullen has ever seen before. He stands just long enough to work his body and erection free of his too tight pants.

The former templar pours the last bit of the lyrium into his palm to slick over his aching erection. He lines himself with Maxwell’s tight hole to notice the other’s whole body is trembling with the suspense. Maxwell’s arms cling to the elder with a force Cullen didn’t realize the man had.

“You’re so tight,” Cullen groans. He’s achingly slow pushing past the inquisitor’s tight ring of muscle. It’s all the mage can not to cry out and come right there. It feels like hours until Cullen’s thick length is completely inside him. He feels so full but in all the right way, and when Cullen starts to move he wraps that lyrium covered hand around Maxwell’s own erection. It’s euphoria. It’s all too much for Maxwell to handle. He can’t even form sentences anymore. Then, Cullen hits that spot inside him, and he cries out the man’s name toes curling like in Varric’s romance books.

Cullen feels Maxwell’s orgasm, muscles tightening around him. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. Cullen can already feel himself boarding his own.

“Can I come inside you?” Cullen can barely breathe out the words quick enough. Maxwell’s too far gone too give a complete answer. Too far gone in a world that is only Cullen, but he manages a nod. But, that’s all it takes for his war commander.

It takes almost an hour to come down for them to come down from their orgasms. The realization starts to come back for Cullen. He can hardly believe what he’s done guilt wrecks him. He wants Maxwell to be angry at him to tell him to leave. It’s what he deserves anyway.

“I want to you stay.” Maxwell sighs out in content. The mage must have read his thoughts.

“You got no poker face, Cullen. You’re an open book.” He laughs tiredly. “Besides it gets really cold up here.”

“I guess I am.” Cullen can’t help the smile the graces his face. He kisses his mage, his inquisitor. It’s a sweet kiss, and Cullen knows now he never really wanted to leave.

 

 

Its late morning before Maxwell gets up. Normally, he’s up and out bright and early, but today it was the sun that annoyingly woke him up shinning to brightly through his windows. He finds his bed empty besides himself. Trevelyan expects Cullen’s already out working; instead he sees the balcony doors open and the man of question leaning half naked on the railing outside. Maxwell aches for a fresh shower and clean clothes. However, he decides the pull on his night pants to join his lion.

“Sleep well?” Trevelyan asks.

“Best sleep I’ve had in years.”

“That’s good.” He notices the empty lyrium bottle in Cullen’s hand. “Look, Cullen, I’m sorry about everything. I was just proud of how well you were doing I didn’t want you to fall back.”

“I know, and you were right. I don’t need it anyway.” They both smile when Cullen flicks the bottle into the valley below.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the bane of my existence.


End file.
